


Bellmare

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/F, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: Aubrey Posen is used to the brutal cold of the city- so after an attempt is made on her life and she has to forcibly relocate to a small southern town seemingly stuck in the 1950s, she's surprised to stumble upon a new case, and an annoying clingy FBI agent who she can't seem to shake.
Relationships: Beca Mitchell & Aubrey Posen, Beca Mitchell/Aubrey Posen, Chloe Beale/Emily Junk
Comments: 27
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Aubrey Posen hated** the crown molding in her apartment. It clashed abrasively with the dull gray that slathered the walls and descended in four even steps. She thought it was ugly when she found the place but the hardwood floors made up for the inconsistency in eras. So she ignored it and signed the yearlong lease. She never tended to look up anyway, so what was the harm?

The crown molding was the only thing that she could focus her stare on now. She had read through the paperwork and she couldn’t take a sledgehammer to it even if she wanted to. It made her angry, and she thought she was frowning but couldn’t be sure, because that hideous crown molding wouldn’t be the last thing she saw before everything went dark.

She could smell the greasy odor of the sesame chicken she had ordered from the restaurant down the street as it wafted from the counter. It mixed nicely with a new metallic kind of scent- and Aubrey didn’t’ realize what it was at first.

Getting shot didn’t hurt.

Not the pure action of a lead bullet entering the soft area of her stomach, or the one that hit her knee. It felt like the time right before Christmas when her family took photos on the beach, before dusk. There were horseflies that had no mercy for them- and their bites stung, but they weren’t debilitating. Not in the slightest.

But now her stomach burned and her mouth filled with blood, and she was staring at that stupid crown molding. So it wasn’t an insect with a vengeance, not in the dead winter in New York City. It couldn’t be; so the logical connection was that she had been shot. Twice.

There was broken glass from her balcony and a draft. She felt cold and tired and the front door was left open to the hallway because that was the way that the man had exited. He had missed her the first time, but she was an easy target, standing still in nothing but shock.

She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and realized that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel every breath move through her lungs and the discomfort of her spine pressing against the wood floor. Aubrey was in and out of consciousness and she couldn’t’ tell for how long. Not initially.

Aubrey had memorized her neighbor’s habits; what times she came and went from classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be long before she padded up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, no matter how secure, and found her door open. But she wondered half-heartedly if she would make it that long.

Had she done everything she hoped for in life? She had gotten good grades, had gone backpacking around Europe a year after she graduated college with a bachelor's, traveling was always good. And she had powered through all three years of law school. She hadn’t gotten married, but that was fine. Not many people do, and nowadays something like that didn’t last.

Aubrey had graduated to a prosecuting attorney and had convicted so many people; including the Ripper of Manhattan- that was her golden case, the one that put her in the running to become a DA. One more case and she had it in the bag, one high profile case.

She supposed, as she lay on the hard wooden floor staring at the spotty architecture, that this was a possibility. Something that wasn’t quite a robbery, something that was intentional. Aubrey Posen wasn’t dense, she knew that she had made enemies, that this last court case was a rough one, the whole city was watching. 

Her consciousness wavered again and she felt a cold puddle of blood soak into her shirt. She had hung her blazer against the back of the chair. But she was oddly content- tired if anything. But she was sure that had to do with the 60 hour work weeks.

There was a jingle of keys and the muffled sound of music. Jessica was home and she had removed a headphone. The girl was probably staring tentatively at the open door and Aubrey hoped desperately in her solitude that her fingers were visible. That any part of her was. 

“Bree?” She called out, her words strung together. “I have mace!”

Mace. Aubrey would have scoffed if she could, but everything was becoming harder to do and that acid burn in her abdomen hissed with every breath. She listened as her neighbor walked cautiously into the apartment. It wasn’t long before she spotted her.

“Holy shit, Aubrey!” She felt Jessica drop to her knees, felt her hands, cold from the winter night, on the side of her face, and then on her neck as she pressed for a pulse. She didn’t mind the blood or the fluttering of Aubrey’s eyes “Help! We need help in here!”

She scrambled for her phone, dialing 911 fast. There were more footsteps and the scent of chicken still lingered like a bad hangover. Jessica stayed by her side, and a male voice countered her own. She swore she felt someone pushing down on her chest but latched onto the familiar voice instead.

“…719 East Ord Street- yes, we’re on the second floor. My neighbor has been shot I don’t know how long she’s been here I just found her. Yes, she has a pulse, it’s weak. Please- you have to hurry.” There was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing “You’ve got to keep your eyes open for me, okay? Someone will be here soon.”

When was this place built? The molding shouldn’t be this out of style. It doesn’t match the stainless steel of the appliances or the nice wooden floor. It clashed with her throw pillows, and she’s bought at least seven different ones just to make it acceptable. But nothing was.

**She doesn’t remember** waking up. It’s not something Aubrey put too much thought into until it came into question whether she would or not. There was an uncomfortably bright light that buzzed like a trapped fly above her head and a television in the corner of the puke-colored room that played soap operas.

Aubrey could tell from the bad acting and the grainy quality of the scene in front of her. She knew she was in a hospital room; the beeping of the monitors and the IV that was taped roughly to the top of her hand gave that away. They could never find a vein in her arm because it was right on top of a nerve. She hated getting blood drawn, and hated ones lodged into her tendons even more.

She blinked a few times, focusing on the dotted ceiling tiles as she moaned. Not so much from the pain, which was ever-present, but from the stiffness of her body. The heart monitor picked up, and whoever had turned on the television in the first place flicked it off.

“Easy,” Jessica’s voice came from the side of the bed, and an instant wave of calm washed over her body. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Her bed was somewhat propped, facing the busy hallway. It must be evening, she assumed. From the lack of nurses at the station directly across from them. There was a guard sitting in a metal chair in front of the glass windows, skimming through a magazine that she couldn’t’ quite read.

A cynical part of Aubrey expected more people to be here. There was a vase of purple flowers on a side table that had begun to welt and a card that had her practices logo on the side of it. Jessica had her laptop open to a school assignment- and she didn’t’ know what else to expect. She didn’t’ have very many friends in the city unless the wardens at the prison counted. She became well acquainted with them each time she walked through the doors to speak to a client. 

“Where am I?” She asked, regardless.

“A Hospital in Baltimore, you had an accident.”

An accident? She supposed that was the simple way of putting it. It had been no accident, though. Someone was sitting on her couch when she walked through her front door. They knew where she lived when she would get home. Who she was, and they easily raised a 9mm and fired off three rounds.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks.” Jessica frowned, trying to remember the exact time “You’ve had twelve surgeries. It’s a miracle that you’re even here right now.”

Aubrey didn’t’ think it was quite a miracle, but she still held her life in her hands. What a life it was, so focused on trial after trial. She lifted her chin weakly at the guard “Who’s that guy?”

Her neighbor hesitated and then let out a small breath “He’s here for your protection. They still don’t know who shot you.”

There was a thick form of tension in the room and Aubrey felt her fingers curl around the fabric of the bed. The needle in her hand tugged so she unwound them. “What are you not telling me, Jess?”

Her neighbor stepped away from the bed and flicked on the television again. This time she changed the channel to the news; a generic reporter stood in front of their apartment building. His eyes were dark and tired, a hat pulled down over his hair, and his nose red and raw. She struggled to focus her eyes on the moving text at the bottom of the screen. It used to be so easy to listen to the monotone words and the flashing subtitles.

**MANHATTEN PROSECUTOR FOUND SLAIN. KILLER STILL AT LARGE.**

She didn’t’ understand; the television continued to drone on but she wasn’t listening. Had this been a serial attack? Was she a lucky one out of all of the lawyers in the city? She wasn’t aware of anyone else in their building having a background in law.

Her heart monitor must have picked up its pace because Jessica’s hand was wrapped around hers, calming and warm and grounding. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here, okay?”

“They’re talking about me?”

She nodded “Aubrey, you were the last on a long list of people. The case you’re working on, all of the witnesses… they weren’t as lucky as you.”

She swallowed the cotton taste in her mouth and made a small noise. There was always a danger to her job, angry people with access to firearms. She didn’t flinch at the profanities shouted at her as she walked down the halls of the state facility, or the horrible articles spread about the people she put away being innocent. But she never expected this, never wanted this.

“I don’t understand” She whispered, frowning.

“They needed to make it look like you died, Aubrey.” Jessica explained, her voice was soft and sad “for your protection, you can’t stay in Manhattan. Not anymore.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, more exposition- because that's always fun!

**Hospital Food had** a funny plastic taste to it; not bad, just funny. Aubrey found that the only item on the dull puke-colored tray that had any type of flavor to it was a bright red cut of gelatin cut up into little even cubes. It was cherry, or maybe it was strawberry, either way, it tasted strong and artificial. She poked at it weakly with the white prongs of the disposable fork they supplied her with.

She sighed and the movement made her abdomen ache. She had been lucky enough not to tear a stitch or staple. There was so much metal in her now that she wasn’t sure what was what and where exactly she would ping in airport security.

In the past month, she had grown impatient. Impatient with the doctors who would sympathetically explain that she would need a few more surgeries, and impatient with the way she would drift in and out of consciousness, not truly knowing what day it was or how many people cared that she was confined to a hospital bed in the first place.

Not many.

Aubrey Posen realized, somewhere between a procedure to repair damaged tissues and reconstruct shattered bones, that she hadn’t really lived her life the way she wanted to. Of course, she didn’t know much of what she wanted at this point- other than to get up, grab a decent cup of coffee, and get the hell out of Baltimore. Maryland smelled rancid like most cities do.

She could almost walk a few feet on her own without the metal walker brandished with four scratched up tennis balls that had lost their traction laps ago. And her appetite was coming along nicely, though, she wished for something better than Jell-O.

Her physical Therapist, Sammy, kept reassuring her that she was the best patient she had ever had. That she was recovering so nicely and that tricky determination of hers was going to have her up and on her feet in no time. Aubrey didn’t’ want to remind her that she had nowhere to go- and that whatever security guard watched her room this shift wasn’t about to provide any answers.

Jessica still ordered flowers for her room every couple of days, just to liven things up. Aubrey appreciated the color and the sentiment but missed the girl’s presence. She understood her willingness to head back to Manhattan, to get back to her school and her actual friends.

There was a slight knock at the door and Aubrey may have glanced up too fast because it made her dizzy. She felt her fingers curl around the coarse blanket and the IV in her hand tug uncomfortably at her skin. She had grown used to it, the way it felt, even when she wasn’t hooked up to anything.

The man who stood in the doorway looked seasoned; his salt and pepper hair was thinning and the pastel button-up that he wore was wrinkled, thrown into the laundry with everything else. He wore a badge against his belt and had a black mustache that was poorly dyed.

She could only describe his posture as poor, as the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She watched him carefully as the security guard averted his tired stare and tried to look like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. The man slid the glass shut behind him, engulfing them in as much quiet as one could get in a hospital.

“Miss Posen, you look well.”

He was lying, she decided, but it was still nice to hear “Thank you, call me Aubrey, please.”

He nodded and shoved his hands into the loose pockets of his pressed pants. There was no point in small talk. But still, he scrunched up his face like he was trying to find the exact words to say. “Miss Posen… Aubrey. I want you to know that the NYPD has done everything in their power to catch the person who did this to you.”

She frowned “You know exactly who did this.”

Aubrey could understand being air-lifted to another city for treatment. She could understand the alternating security guards and the fact that Jessica couldn’t quite possibly write an actual address on the flowers she sent. She knew that they _needed_ the public to believe that she had perished in her apartment. But not catching the man who had ordered her death in the first place?

He sighed heavily, lowering himself onto the corner of the bed. He shifted twice before speaking again “Christian Galloway has been awaiting trial in the same state prison that he has been for the last year. We’ve combed every inch of your apartment. There’s no evidence against him, nothing that isn’t circumstantial.”

Circumstantial; the word felt like a hard slap across the face. Her jury was dead, each of them murdered with the very bullets that left scars against her skin. Random people picked from a spreadsheet and surveyed with the normal questions. People who had no connection to the case whatsoever, all slain in cold blood. What about that was circumstantial?

“Has anyone talked?” she swallowed hard “up at state?”

“Oh, many have. Most of them are claiming to have set all of this up themselves. But there are a few that are brave enough to stand against the Galloway’s. But even then, Aubrey, you know how this works. People don’t believe those who have a life sentence for their own crimes.”

She pulled her good knee up to her chest, wincing at the shuttered pain in caused. It was comforting too, and the detective didn’t say a word at how long it took her to do it. “What now?”

“Well, you get better. Fully,” He said, schooling his posture “And after that we relocate you, you can’t go home.”

“I figured.”

 **She hadn’t felt** sunshine in months. Three long ones to be exact- Sammy said that she had the fastest recovery that she had ever seen. Aubrey hadn’t realized that she was pushing herself out of frustration and uncertainty instead of her pure willingness to escape.

She was pale now; having lost the better half of the summer and the tan glow it provided her. There was a slight chill to the air and it burned her lungs when she breathed in. But she decided it was a good feeling- like the crisp scent of the leaves and the hazy gas of passing cars.

Aubrey had learned his name the night he left her hospital room the first time: Grady- Detective Grady Marshall. She thought that his parents doomed him to the life of a cop with that name. The way he kept up his appearance with the slight stink of alcohol sealed the deal. He leaned against an unmarked black car now. Beaming at the way she was walking, almost normal.

The cold September air was making her bones ached but she didn’t care. Not now, not with her getaway car only a few feet away. He outstretched his arms like a smug family member. “Aubrey, look at you!”

She smiled politely. She would have done a little twirl if she wasn’t at a risk of being herded right back into her room. They had lead her out of the Baltimore Hospital from the back way, where the orderlies went to share cigarettes. It smelled rancid of trash and dried antiseptic. She let none of this bother her.

Detective Marshall opened the passenger side door for her and waited patiently while she got settled before moving over to the driver’s side. There was a small pine-scented air freshener hanging from the front mirror. It danced with the low setting of heat he had switched on.

He didn’t’ move the car, and Aubrey realized they didn’t’ have anywhere to go.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” She would kill for some real food right now, a big burger dripping with grease and fries that were too salty for her own good. Anything with flavor.

He nodded and reached behind her seat until his fingers grasped a dark leather briefcase that she hadn’t noticed at first. It smelled new, barely used. He flicked open the iron clasps, most of his papers unorganized despite the many pockets. Detective Marshall handed her a manila folder, void from labels. Aubrey hesitated but took it.

There was a neat logo for the FBI in the corner, and she thought it was incredibly dumb to label all the papers like that, but instead focused on the words. Hundreds of them that she barely skimmed before looking up at the man. “What is this?”

“That’s you, Aubrey.” He looked flustered “The new you, who we’ve created you to be.”

She felt foggy “I don’t understand.”

“Until we can find enough evidence to put every single Galloway behind bars until they rot, you’re in danger. You can’t be you- so you’re going to be Charlotte Cohen instead.”

She hated the name, but that wasn’t the most pressing issue. She had picked up on the other documents in the case; a birth certificate, a social security card, driver’s license, and marriage certificates. They had thought of everything, everything to erase her entirely.

“Where exactly is Charlotte going to live?” She raised her eyebrows, closing the folder.

“Bellmare, South Carolina.”

“South Carolina?” She scoffed “What is in South Carolina?”

“Absolutely nothing, which is why it’s perfect for you.” He closed the briefcase, stashing it back in its place before putting the car into drive. “We’re getting some food and then hitting the road. You’re going to love it, it has a real small-town charm.”

She let out a leaden sigh and pushed her forehead against the window, the cool glass instantly hardened the sweat on her brow. Food didn’t sound like a bad idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're finally getting to the good stuff. I would really appreciate any feedback you guys have to offer! Please wear a mask and stay safe.

**She wasn’t sure** when she had drifted off, or what had lulled her into a restless sleep. The car smelled thickly of a black vanilla air freshener, the window cold against her forehead as they ambled along the highway. Eventually, the city faded away to pure green, the world’s last-ditch effort to feign life before turning an ugly brown.

Aubrey nodded off around Virginia and stirred at a rest stop leading into North Carolina. Her knee was throbbing and her head swam, because for just a moment, she figured that everything was normal. That this was a routine road trip with her sister. But then she realized her driver had a badge in the center console next to his gun, and she had heavy reading material in her grasp. Her palms started sweating and left a wet imprint on the manila surface.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

No, she didn’t’ think she did. They had been driving for at least five hours at this point and the stale soda she had gulped down at the burger joint they tried still hadn’t weighted on her system. But she nodded anyway, for a chance to get out of the car and stretch her legs. Grady rounded the car quickly and she gratefully accepted the hand he outstretched towards her.

Aubrey never needed help, not before all of this.

Her knee ached in a ghostly kind of way. It had healed; that’s what Sammy told her. Her shattered bones were glued together like a puzzle and it was up to her to learn to walk normally again. But it still burned like there was a bloody hole in what remained as she had just been struck with the leaden bullet once more. A phantom of an injury. Sammy said that would happen too.

She fought off a groan as Grady let her put most of her weight against him. He didn’t’ protest and let her take her time in the overly lit rest stop bathroom. She would have refused to use them once upon a time, even if it was miles away from the city.

They smelled of the same antiseptic that the hospital used and the seats were frigid. She didn’t’ make a move to open one of the stalls; instead, she walked to the sink furthest away from the squeaking door and flicked on the water. It took a moment to warm up, teasing her skin until it was raw and red. The soap was a foamy pink and smelled something akin to fruit, but she couldn’t’ place which one.

Aubrey looked pale; she hadn’t seen the sun in months. Her face was slim and her skin angry from the patches placed on her chest. She had peeled most of the adhesive away, but the shirt that they had provided her with left little to the imagination.

She thought about her younger sister for a moment; an overachiever in the same way Aubrey had always been. It was the first time that she could see a resemblance; the way that her jaw curved, how her skin was sweaty and sickly. Her sister cared even more than her, if that was possible, about things that didn’t’ seem to matter now.

Aubrey had finished staring at herself in the soap-speckled mirror, but she couldn’t get the face staring back to leave her mind.

 **In the four** hours, it took to cross the border into South Carolina, the air had gotten thicker. Detective Marshall had rolled up the window somewhere north of I80 and resorted to cranking the air all the way up. It plunged them into silence- Aubrey had grown used to the purr of the engine and the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She refrained from looking in the side mirrors, or flipping down the visor like she had done haplessly in the past to apply a generous coat of lip stain or mascara. She yearned for the days when the only thing she worried about was her appearance. Instead of thinking too much, she opted for not at all. Her stare was trained on the fast-moving scenery.

Dusk was approaching fast and after the billboards for Myrtle Beach turned into advertisements for firework stands and hand-painted signs for boiled peanuts and peaches, Aubrey started to panic. They had driven through small towns and ones that were closer to the ocean; she watched the blackened waves through the stretching hotels. They morphed into marshes, and then thickets of trees, and then nothing.

It was entirely dark by the time she finally got enough nerve to question Grady.

“You weren’t kidding about this being the middle of nowhere.” Her voice was hushed, and he turned down the air in response, trying to hear her better. She didn’t repeat herself, instead, giving him a moment to process what she had said.

“It’s not as hard as you would think to vanish completely. If you’re smart enough, you can get away with it for a long time.”

It wasn’t the answer that she was looking for. She didn’t know what she wanted. She supposed it would be easy to disappear. Her late-night binges consisted of true crime podcasts and Dateline specials. Everyone hell-bent on leaving their lives did. But she didn’t want that- she didn’t’ want this.

They passed another car on the highway and Aubrey blinked away the little blue spots that the headlights created. She had been gripping the folder of her new life like a vice. Its edges were frayed and damp with the sweat from her palms. She hastily watched as a sign pulled into view.

**BELLMARE SC, EST. 1908**

It was a nice wooden creation pooled in floodlights. She tried to catch the population but couldn’t. Her stitches pulled at her abdomen and she hissed slightly before giving up entirely. Aubrey waited for the large structures, but they only passed more marshes and walls of trees. It was another seven minutes before lights came into view.

She squinted at the inky water and thought that it looked endless. The rancid scent of fish leaked through the air vents and she considered it better than the paper mill in the city she grew up in- mingling with the gasoline. She leaned forward, trying to see what Bellmare had to offer.

It wasn’t much; she noticed a small pub tacked with Christmas lights and wondered sparsely if it was a design choice or laziness. Large trucks were surrounding the converted barn. The door was open and the sound of live music shook the car. She watched as a van treaded gravel to get the last manmade spot.

The foliage turned into a fully lit main street; the buildings were mostly brick. She tried hard to read the frosted glass with names carved in them. She noticed a bookstore, and a little boutique, a butcher. Most of the storefronts were vacant and the same realtors face graced the comically bright advertisements tacked in the windows, she wanted a clear look, a better idea of the woman.

She was sure Bellmare had a certain southern charm leaking in classic tradition. A classic tradition that she wanted no part of.

Grady continued to drive until main street faded away and large oaks dripping with Spanish moss took over again. They passed a few unmarked streets that could have been paths to nowhere and everywhere all at once. The scent of the ocean faded away and suddenly he made a sharp turn onto a dirt road.

“I know it looks a little dingy so far,” he stated, letting out a small grunt as they hit a particularly deep pothole. “Kind of like a horror movie, huh?”

Aubrey gave him a dry stare and gripped the handle above her head. “Too soon, Detective Marshall.”

He cleared his throat as the white dirt turned into gray gravel. Aubrey could smell the ocean again. There was a small turnabout at the end of the street, and he pulled the vehicle where the circle met the grass. She noticed the shadowy outline of a house- but even more, she noticed the dull yellow light leaking from the nearest window.

It was old and large and Victorian, that, she could tell from here. The white paint job caught the headlights until Grady flicked them off. She didn’t move for a moment. “Is someone here?”

He chuckled “You really didn’t read the file, did you?”

She hadn’t, not all the way through. Instead, she watched the ink smear from her touch. Aubrey let Detective Marshall help her from the car. The gravel was slick and the world was alive around them; she could hear the low hum of crickets and toads and other animals that lurked in the brush. There was a small break in the forest that leads to a grassy area, silver in the darkness. She could see a dock leading out to the water and a small boat tied to the rotting wood.

It took a few moments for the both of them to walk up the steps, Grady helping her along the way. He used a key on his ring to open the door, letting it creak and groan with the age that it possessed. “Honey, I’m home!”

She didn’t find the joke very funny but appreciated his lightness in the subject. She looked around the foyer- this place was archaic, but done up as much as it could be. It was warm and cozy and reminded her of a bed and breakfast, but not the home she desired. She craved the cool steel appliances and breathtaking view of her apartment in the city. And central air- how she missed that.

The detective closed the door behind him and put the keys in the dish. Who was he calling out to?

“It’s not the white house, but it’s pretty damn nice. I relocated a family to a town in Alaska once, god, that was absolutely horrid compared to this.” He frowned and cupped the back of his neck sheepishly “I get nervous with this type of thing.”

“You shouldn’t tell her all of your trade secrets.”

The woman who walked from what Aubrey assumed was the dining room was nearly a head shorter than herself, her frame was slight and delicate but her facial expression rough. Her hair was tied in a loose bun at her neck, strands falling from the elastic band. She was sweating too, that much was clear from the collar of her shirt. She eyed Aubrey for a total of four seconds before smiling genuinely at Grady.

“It’s about time you got here; I thought you stopped at some of the bars in Myrtle Beach.”

“Gross. No, I was just enjoying the scenery.” He shoved his hands in his pockets despite the heat. “It’s a little too late for me to head out tonight. That guestroom still open upstairs?”

“Are you okay to share a bed with a police scanner?”

“It’ll be more action than I’ve seen in a while.”

The woman snorted and shook her head before returning her attention to Aubrey. She felt like a little kid, waiting for her parents to stop talking so she could crawl into clean sheets and sleep until the sun had risen well past its peak.

“You must be Aubrey.” She lifted her chin, didn’t offer a hand “I’m Agent Beca Mitchell from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’ve been assigned to you as protection.”

She struggled to choose her words carefully, but they spilled out like vomit “I was under the impression that I would be alone up here. Won’t people notice an FBI agent?”

Aubrey had always cared a little too much about her job. She never leaned into the reporters that lined the courthouse steps or the radio shows that her firm forced her to speak to. Instead; it was about the client. The client she knew would be her responsibility.

The silence perturbed her “This all seems like a lot.”

“Was it a lot when you got shot three times?” The woman challenged her.

“Excuse me?”

“Alright!” Detective Marshall clapped his hands together “Aubrey and I traveled a lot today, and I’m sure she’s just as exhausted as me. I think we should get to bed. All three of us will discuss things a little more tomorrow.”

The agent steeled her jaw, but eventually, let her shoulders relax with a shrug. She said her goodnights and climbed the creaking stairs to one of the bedrooms. Aubrey didn’t’ exactly know which one, and she didn’t care to find out. Part of her wanted to request another agent, to request another stupid file that would take her to Alaska instead.

“People are going to question why we’re here.” She mumbled under her breath.

“That’s why we gave them something else to question.” Aubrey lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, looking at the dumb expression on Detective Marshall’s face. “I know it’s a rocky start, but what’s a marriage without a little fighting?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see guys, I just got off of a short quarantine, and this is the only thing I have to show for it. Please stay safe, drink water, and let me know what you think!

**Aubrey woke with** a start. Her heart was whispering against the dip in her throat, and she could taste salt on her lips. The window was slightly propped and she could hear the water that was a few feet away. The air was sticky like only the South could muster. She had pushed the quilt away from the four-post bed at some point and clenched the cool side of the pillow like a vice.

She had forgotten about the dull ache in her abdomen until she stretched. Her damp fingers moved straight to the fresh scar above her hip as she hissed out a string of profanities. The low altitude wasn’t aiding the pain, and neither was the scent of coffee and bacon wafting from downstairs. In fact, it made her stomach turn even harder.

It took her a few moments to gather her surroundings. She wasn’t used to the small room with the cherry-stained floors. Everything in her apartment back home, what was once her home, was shiny and new. She made enough so that it could be this way. There was floral wallpaper on the walls here, once white and vibrant had faded to a dingy golden-yellow. She squinted hard at the colors and waited for a hand to press against the plaster, but it never did.

The mattress was lumpy but better than the one at the hospital, and she supposed since they were in the Deep South now, the food would be better too. There was a small bookshelf in the corner that contained a few novels that were just as dusty as the mostly empty closet. Aubrey Posen was grateful for her own room. She was grateful that they rolled up in the dead of night and that if she truly wanted to, she could remain locked away behind this door for eternity.

Instead, she pulled herself up and took a look at the large closet that had been carved into the bedroom unnaturally. It hadn’t been there when this place was first built, whenever that was. It had been filled with clothes that were as bright as the wallpaper. She cringed at the floral button-downs and pastel blouses. They were nothing like the dark blazers and silk tops she would dawn in court. Sophisticated and sexy- it captured the attention of her audience but demanded authority.

Charlotte must be reserved. The file that she had thumbed through last night presented her as a small-town girl who married her high school sweetheart. Someone that was involved in bake sales and homecoming courts. Aubrey didn’t have time for that when she was in high school- but this Charlotte Cohen did.

She grabbed the closest thing to normal that she could find, a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The fabric pressed uncomfortably against the wound on her knee, but she ignored it, the ghost pain that Sammie said would be there. Just a phantom.

Aubrey took a deep breath before walking down the stairs of the old farmhouse. She would do the same when she was younger- steel her nerves and control her heart rate before presenting a mask at the dinner table. She would go through her day, and the itinerary for the next while shoveling peas onto her fork without dropping a single one. This was no different.

Grady was gulping down a large glass of orange juice when she finally walked into the kitchen. He smiled tiredly at her. There was an extravagant plate of food in front of him, complete with runny eggs and two strips of bacon. He had already bitten into the corner of a piece of toast slathered in bloody jam.

Agent Beca Mitchell hummed a small tune at the stove. A towel was strung over her shoulder, slightly damp as she pushed another egg around a skillet. She didn’t look up at the new footsteps. Instead, she shoveled the food onto a plate and placed it at a chair adjacent to the man already eating.

She looked different in the daylight, almost domestic compared to the cold exterior she presented the night before. Still, Aubrey eyed her apprehensively, trailing her stare across the flannel she wore and the regulation gun that was hidden by its stripes.

“You hungry, princess?” She chided.

Aubrey frowned but had to admit, that roadside burger that she scarfed down the day before had long since worn away. She could feel her stomach clench with hunger. The scent of coffee was making her mouth water. She nodded, and let out a tight sigh.

“Well, dig in. We have a lot to talk about before Detective Marshall has to head back to Quantico.”

The woman grasped her dark colored mug from the counter and sat in the only available seat. Aubrey didn’t question why she wasn’t eating, or if she already had. Instead, she settled in and took a small bite of the maple bacon that had been cooked to perfection. She wondered if they taught that at an academy.

Grady wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Did you get a chance to read through the file, Aubrey?”

“I did. I suppose I should have done it a lot sooner.”

“It’s a lot to take in. Any questions?”

“No” She swallowed the sweet taste on her lips and let out a shaky sigh “From here on out I’m Charlotte Cohen. I along with my wife Georgia Cohen moved from Washington to open up a small flower shop here in town. The weather is warmer here. We met in high school, went to different colleges, and reconnected five years ago. It took two for her to propose.” 

Agent Mitchell laughed into her cup “Quite the memory on this one.”

“You’ve got all the facts, now you just have to act the part. I know how hard it’s going to be to adjust to all of this but consider it a little mini vacation. Enjoy a simple life without trials, and reporters, and high-security facilities.”

Beca looked over the brim of her mug. She was drinking straight black coffee and it made Aubrey’s stomach turn. She would overload hers with sugar and cream and enough calories to make it not taste so bitter. But then again, everything is bitter these days.

“This town is small, smaller then you’re used to. There’s already talk about the two of us.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what we want?”

“Technically. Some local buzz is nothing to worry about. This place's main export is fish, I doubt anyone keeps track of the news, and if they do, it’ll be easy to squash.” Beca said.

Aubrey wasn’t sure if she believed the detective or not, but her words were strong. That was one of the first things that she learned in law school; if you’re confident enough in your arguments, anyone will follow you.

She broke the soupy yolk of the egg on her plate and watched as the dark yellow color soaked into the toast. “When do you think you’ll catch him?”

The two agents grew uncomfortably quiet. It was the type of silence that Aubrey dreaded. She lifted her eyes from the plate just in time to see a sparing glance between the two. Grady had folded up his napkin and covered the half-eaten plate of food while Agent Mitchell stared at the grounds floating at the bottom of her cup.

“It’s a bit more complicated than just catching him, I’m afraid. The Galloway family has a strong pull in New York, and after the news broke about your… death, things got even more complicated. Our usual connections are tight-lipped. We don’t have a case against him, not with either charge. Everything is circumstantial.”

“So that’s it, then?” She raised her eyebrows, suddenly not hungry. “Christian gets to walk free while I’m stuck in _this_ place?”

Agent Mitchell bit her bottom lip and said nothing. There was an angry stare on Aubrey’s face that could shatter glass. It wasn’t directed at her, not like it had been last night. Her job was plain and simple; protect the girl. There was nothing said about catching her killer.

“We’re trying our hardest to make it safe for you to go home, I promise you that. But there is an empire to disassemble.” Detective Grady Marshall stood from his chair, not wanting any part in the rest of the conversation. “I need to get back to Georgia. I’m a phone call away if you two need me. Other than that, you each need to behave and blend in. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Beca grumbled.

Aubrey just nodded. The discussion had been put to bed. They sat in a labored silence until they heard the engine of his car start and the gravel crunch under a set of new tires. The lawyer pushed the golden goop around her plate until it covered most of the porcelain.

 **Aubrey got to** see more of Bellmare later that afternoon. There was more than one slim road that leads in and out of the small port town. It looked dingier in the daylight, and somehow, charming. They were close enough to Main Street that they could walk into town with minutes to spare. Though, it was hot enough to melt steel. 

She hadn’t exactly grown comfortable with Agent Mitchell, her blood still boiled with each snarky comment she made. But the breakfast had helped, and so did the pained look she shot her when the situation was laid out quite plainly; Beca with her wife in this show and the curtain wasn’t going to close for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, she could be civil.

They walked in silence towards the main row of shops that she had seen briefly on the way in. According to the papers, this is where their floral business would be. Right now it was half finished because the agency had thought of everything. They were supposed to be charming, to blend in while they struggle to hang lights and paint the walls.

“What made you want to become a cop?” Aubrey asked as they reached the end of the drive.

“I can’t talk about that.”

“Oh, come on, no one is in earshot.”

“What if they were?”

She took this job too seriously. That’s what Aubrey decided in a matter of seconds as they continued their journey. She supposed that this was protocol, and that she had no room to talk. She had never done anything with her life other than follow the dream board she made with construction paper and tacky glitter.

She would curl up in the corner of her sofa and eat greasy noodles, and look at the case files spread across her table because she had an early morning repeal meeting with a judge. She took her job seriously too, but that was before she felt the sharp bite of the lead and the angry touch of death.

Beca let out a steady sigh “Name one thing about me?”

“I don’t know anything about you, that’s why I was trying to make small talk.”

“Not what I meant. Name one thing about Georgia?”

Oh. Maybe her months in the hospital had made her lose her edge, or maybe it was the condescending way Beca narrowed her eyes or maybe, just maybe, the way her jaw curved and her hands found her front pockets despite nothing but a warm wind.

Aubrey shrugged her shoulders “you’re my wife.”

“That’s an obvious one. What’s my favorite color?”

Aubrey stopped short at one of the mailboxes. There was an iron fence that shielded green grass and a paved walkway lined with flowers. A pier stretched out beyond the Victorian, it’s fingers gripping the water. There wasn’t a boat- instead, there was a woman lounging on the stained wood. She arched her neck and stared back at the pair with curiosity.

Part of her had stopped because of the incredulous question. But she had shelved the real reason back into the deepest reaches of her mind. It was a certain type of guilt and distain that came with what had happened. The same pang of despair that rocked her when Beca suggested the walk into town instead of the truck. She needed a break from the subtle burn and the pain. 

“How am I to know that?” Aubrey asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The woman just raised her eyebrows. “Fine, then. Yellow?”

“what about me screams yellow?”

“Incessant and loud.” Aubrey shot back.

They two of them stood at the end of this drive, glaring at one another in a stinted position. If they had just taken the car into town, this wouldn’t be a discussion. Aubrey was set to flick on whatever radio station they got, but nothing was left to them now.

“Excuse me, ladies?”

Aubrey snapped her jaw shut; the woman who soaked up whatever sun the day had to offer had made her way to the end of her drive. She gripped the iron gate and wore a simple smile on her face. Neither of them could get a good look at her eyes, but even as they hid behind darkened glasses, they could tell that she was stunning.

She was older, and had slipped on a sheer cover over the one-piece suit that she wore. Her wild red mane was tamed in a hairband and her perfectly manicured nails tucked whatever fly away strands there were, behind her ear.

Beca quickly dropped her look of distaste “Hi, I’m so sorry if we disturbed you. My wife and I were just having a little disagreement about what to get at the market. Isn’t that right, dear?”

 _Please._ It took everything in her not to stiffen when the shorter woman looped her arm around her waist and rested her fingers against her hip. Beca smelled like leather oil and oil books. There was a bit of coffee on her breath, and she supposed it was somewhat comforting.

“Right, it’s so hard to choose these days.” Aubrey lied through her teeth. She extended a hand. “I’m Charlotte. This is Georgia.”

“Georgie, please.”

The stranger took both of their hands. She had a weak grip, somewhat timid as she finally lowered the glasses. “Nice to meet you both, Hannah Beale. Are you new in town?”

Beca nodded and adjusted her hand as it rested lazily around Aubrey’s midsection. “Just moved in the other week. We’ve been pretty trapped with home repairs, we’re just now getting into town.”

“Well, you’re going to love our sweet little paradise. If you don’t want to cook tonight, you could always stop by Copper Time Grill.” She beamed, another sad smile “It’s covered in lights, hard to miss.”

The two women thanked her and apologized once more for the trouble before pulling apart and heading the rest of the way towards town. Aubrey’s mind was racing, and maybe her stomach was a little too. Hannah had a certain type of pain hidden behind her eyes, the kind she had seen in clients and families alike. Beca must have sensed it too.

“Don’t even think about it.” She grumbled, putting her hands back into her pockets.

“Think about what?”

“I’m not stupid.” Beca stopped again, this time at a crosswalk as a car idled by “I’ve been in this business for a long time and there’s grief in that one. It’s not your job to find out why.”


End file.
